Onerous
by toffeecup
Summary: "War is like love, it always finds a way." -Bertolt Brecht; America x England


A/N: Okay so this is my first story on here and my first attempt at Fail! Angst. So... hopefully you won't cringe at my (horrid) writing skills and hopefully review yes? :D

This is set in WWIII, you know, if it ever happens that is. This is my interpretation of what would happen, and it's very vauge for a reason. So you can imagine what happened~ yay imagination~ *bricked*

* * *

><p>"<em>Hey dude, England, if there was ever another world war, you would totally be on my side right?"<em>

"_What?" _

"_Well, would you?"_

_England sighed, "Of course I would you wanker."_

"_Good." And he smiled._

Why had that conversation been the one England kept thinking of again and again?

Seeing the fallen nation of America... It all seemed like an eschatologicalreverie. One he desperately wanted to awaken from.

England choked a sob as he held the American in his trembling arms. He could feel his heart crumpling in his chest, and he couldn't bear it. It hurt to look at him.

America's glasses were cracked, his face and body were bloody and bruised, and his usual fair hair was a dirty blond mess, but he still managed a small smile at England. It crushed him even more.

Why? Why was he smiling at him?

England betrayed the things he said to America that day; he fought against him, not beside him. He had been the reason for America's downfall.

But did he have a choice? Could he have prevented this?

America's violent coughs brought back his attention. "Hey... Englan-"

"Don't talk you bloody idiot!" England vehemently shot back. America made a noise that resembled a chuckle.

"I _am_ pretty bloody aren't I?" America closed his eyes for a moment. England's mouth was trembling and a ghost of a smile graced his lips. If this wasn't the situation, a true smile would have been there.

The moments felt like hours with America struggling to breathe normally. England knew he didn't have much time left. America placed his broken hand on the Englishman's own which startled him, but quickly welcomed it.

"I... I know I haven't been a hero recently..." He coughed again and winced at the jerky movements. England gripped his hand, but gently enough as to not cause him pain.

"I caused this war... and caused everyone pain." He took in a few shaky breaths and continued.

"This is my greatest mistake, and I know that I will have to pay for it. I had too many problems, I couldn't support myself anymore." America's voice started to break.

"I resorted to violence to selfishly protect myself, but ended up hurting my people and those closest to me." He slowly reached up to the heartbroken England and in a solicitous act cupped his cheek.

"Especially you, Arthur, I've always loved you, no matter what I said." His heart skipped a beat when America said his name; he would only use his real name when they were alone together. But they were not alone. Countless bodies littered the battle ground, flags ripped and torn, surviving soldiers begged for mercy as their enemies gave the final blow. The other nations that assisted in the battle and suffered were also present, soberly watching America's final moments. But England could have cared less. He gripped America's hand tightly, but again not hard enough to hurt him and leaned into his familiar touch. Tears started to flow down his pale cheeks, and his blurry vision fixed on America.

"It wasn't your fault!" England said sternly, his eyes shut firmly.

His voice got quieter. "It wasn't... your fault."

"Do what you have to England." England's eyes shot open and gaped at the man lying in his arms. America softly looked up at him, tears visible in his own eyes.

"_America what are you doing?" England inquired over the phone._

_A gun shot was heard through the phone._

"_What was that?" England demanded._

_America's end was quiet and only heard some shuffling here and there. "Nothing England... I'm pretty busy right now dude."_

"_Wait! It's your boss isn't it? Stand up for yourself America, do something! You have to help us!" England shouted. America sighed._

"_I can't, goodbye England." And he hung up. He let the phone slowly drop from his ear and stared blankly at the wall._

"_England," His boss spoke up. "You know what we have to do, don't you?"_

"_Yes..." England clutched the phone in his hand until his knuckles turned white. America's deference was clear._

"_I formally declare war on America."_

"No! I'm not going to kill you, you're going to live, and we'll fix this... together." England gripped America in his arms tighter. He leaned down and pressed his lips into America's cold ones. The chaste kiss earned a quick intake of breath from America. England broke from the kiss and looked at America with furrowed brows. America had his eyes screwed shut in pain as his breaths became shallower. His time was nearing an end and England knew his death was imminent.

"America, keep your eyes on me, and don't look away." America complied and his faded cerulean eyes locked with England's blood shot emerald ones. England drew his gun from his holster and positioned it on America's chest, right on top of his heart. The last thing England uttered was a simple but meaningful last "I love you".

A loud shot was heard from England's gun. The Englishman's chilling scream was soon followed afterward. To him it was all he could do from not pointing the gun at his own heart and pulling the trigger. He sobbed into his hand that was covering his mouth as he wept for his best friend and lover. He sobbed even harder when he gazed opon dead nation's face.

America's eyes never left his.


End file.
